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Where Loyalties Lie.
Notice: This story is for mature readers, because of the use of violence, language, and crude and sensual humor. This story is about two men. After an incident in their youth, they grow up together and rely on each other. They virtually become brothers. Both wish to serve and protect their country and planet. One joins Task Force 141, the best group of fighters on the planet. The other joins Shadow Company, an elite regiment with a single goal, protect the commander of the United States Military, General Shepard. However, when events play, unexpected to both sides, they must both decide where their loyalties lie; friendship or faction. The main character's name is Micheal Jayden. This is his story. *''This story is in the first person perspective. Whenever "I", "me", and so forth is used, it is referring to Jayden.'' Chapter One. "Genesis". August 26, 2006 Palm Springs, California. It was nearing the end of August in Southern California. Summer was finally coming to an end. It had already for me, two weeks ago. Unfortunately, that was about the hottest time of the year. The pavement simmered like a runway during takeoff, except the jet wasn't necessary. The sun was a giant disk of flame in the sky. To top it off, my fifth grade class released at 3:00, an already sweltering part of the day. But I was used to it. It was beautiful out here. The palm trees swayed with the breeze, and sometimes a small dust devil would be twirling around, dirtying people's vehicles. I loved the desert. So much mystery, so much enjoyment, and so many cartridges and crap everywhere. It thrilled me everytime I went. I was looking at the horizon when I should have been looking at the road. Suddenly, I bumped into the back of a stalwart looking high-schooler. He turned around and glared at me with eyes I sworn could have stabbed right through me if a knife. There were five others in a ring around something. Then, out of the ring, I heard shouts and screams. I peered inside and saw a kid my age getting beaten to death. He was bleeding and bruised in many places. I could tell within seconds he might not make it. "Hey! HEY!! Leave him alone!" I shouted. A particularly big and strong brute came out of the frenzy and walked up. A couple of others turned around and stared straight at me. "What the fuck are you going to do about it?" he challenged. He then pushed me back and turned around to the skirmish. I knew I had to do something. I suddenly remembered the pellet Walther P99 pistol in my backpack. It shot about 550 fps and had a capacity of about 30 metal pellets. It was also configured to have a seesaw trigger, which in the right hands, could shoot faster than an automatic weapon. My brother gave it to me behind my mom's back because he knew it was dangerous walking home from school. He also gave me about 2 extra magazines of pellets, and a red dot. He was a Sergeant in the Navy Seals and was on leave for six months. I pulled it out, clipped on the red dot and started fighting back. I put two pellets in each leg, one behind the knee, and one in the tendons. My pellet count was reduced to six. But all the thugs were on the ground, bleeding. They wouldn't be chasing after us for at least fifteen minutes. I ran through the throng, and got to the kid. "Kid!" I said. "Are you okay? Can you move?" "Uhhh...." he groaned. "Yeah. I can move." "Ok, come with me. There might be more thugs back there. Let's move!" "Right, got it!" he regained his stamina pretty fast. We both ran fast, as fast a sprinter during track practice. We stopped at an intersection. Suddenly, we heard shouting coming from behind us, where I had dropped the bullies. I was guessing a bunch more thugs were coming after us. "Shit....." I muttered. "Ok, you...what's your name?" "John Westfield" I pulled out my Walther, the bag of pellets, and my phone. I handed the gun and the bag to John. "Reload it. Don't dick around with it, just reload it." "Ok," he replied and started popping the pellets into the mag. I grabbed my phone and started dailing my bro's phone number. As the droning started, I looked around for a street name. We were near the corner of Orange and 5th, in front of a Mega Flicks store. John handed me the P99, just as my brother picked up. "What's up, Mike?" he asked. "Nathan!" I yelled" I need to be picked up at Orange and 5th, in front of Megaflicks, ASAP! I've got a man down condition two, and its danger close! VERY close!" "Aw, fuck, I knew this'd happen. I'll be there in five minutes." My bro had fought in Iraq, where he was a driver. If he could get his buddies out of a town, through gunfire and grenades, with about a ton of crap not including the guys and guns, in a Humvee, he could make a ten minute drive in five minutes. We waited where we were for a while, but all of a sudden, then the shouting grew louder. I turned around and saw about eight guys, all with rods or bike chains, and one with a Baby Desert Eagle in his hand. "FUCK!! GET BEHIND THE BUILDING!!" I screamed. I dived behind, just as the boom of the Deagle sounded. The bullet tore a chunk of the building corner about a square inch. I got in position behind a box and shot him 3 times in arm with my P99. He cried in agony, and dropped the pistol. I then shot about ten rounds into the Desert Eagle, rendering it useless. Then, I heard the screeching of tires. Nathan had finally arrived. His Equinox pulled up and he thrust open the door. "Get in the car! NOW!!" he ordered. John and I both jumped into the car and drove off. Thus began the friendship of Micheal Jayden and John Westfield. Chapter 2 "VIP" July 28, 2015 Camp Pendleton, San Diego. It had been nine years since I'd saved my best friend's life. His parents thought I was the second best thing that ever happened. We became unseperable. We were there together for everything. Some people asked if we were brothers. We said, "No, why do you ask?" in unison every time. Due to both our families military heritage, our fathers both being in the SOG in the same squad, we decided to join the Marine Corps. Training was harder than hell, but easier for us, because we did football in the fall, wrestling in the winter, and Track and field in the spring. We were tough, strong, and fast. Plus, the weapons training was pretty easy, too. Having a Father who did Black Operations, and a brother as an experianced Navy Seal, you can get access to some pretty neat stuff. I got to use an M4A1 when I was twelve, an MP5 when 13, an M16A2 and AKM at 14, and the M16A4 at 15 years old. We grew to be the best. One day, we were told some very special people were coming. There were a couple of suggestions: the president, an actor, naked women, your mom, etc. But when we got there, we were quite suprised. Instead there were two men standing in front of the group. One, who was probably twenty-five, had a mohawk, a stubble beard, and a very cold stare. Another guy wore a balaclava with a skull pattern, and red polarized sunglasses. I thought he was staring at me the entire time. Not that I could tell. "Alright Marines! Attention!!" the drill instructor yelled. "These are representatives from the Task Force 141. Captain "Soap Mactavish, and Simon "Ghost" Riley. These are among the best fighters on the planet. And if you think you bastards are any good, you might join them. They'll be watching you do your daily training. If you get pulled aside, consider yourself luckier than winning the lottery. Dismissed." And so began our daily training. Today was even better, as the TF 141 reps were here for mine and John's fighting combat, and target practice. Even more sweeter was that it was free-form day. Any moves, any techniques, besides ball shots, killing, and anything that would put them out of action for a week. When it was my turn for the fight, everyones eyes were on me. The guy went into a wide stance, trying to butt me with his rifle. I slid under the guys legs, and jumped up, elbowing the guy in the back. Then, I punched a pressure point caing the Marine to drop the carbine. I karate-chopped him in two more pressure points, causing him to drop to the ground. I then got him in a tight headlock, with his carbine barrel pushing into his head. Safety on, of course. I looked over at the two observers, and Soap was smiling. More like a faint smirk, but definitely amused. John was next. The opponent tried using a solid, leaning forward punch. John used a move we both perfected. He went under the punch, put his left foot in front of the opponent, tripping him. The poor Marine, with a little help from John's left arm, went headfirst into John's knee. He was completely senseless for fifteen seconds. It was a move designed to break the neck. That's why the knee didnt hit the guy first. He got the guy on the ground and put his kabar at the Marines throat. Soap definitely smiled this time. And then the two reps started "stalking" us. Everywhere we went, they followed. As soon as we got to the range they stopped. We got our rifles. "Hey, Mike," John said, holding up a very shiny new gun. "Bushmaster ACR. Just came in today." "Whatever," I replied, sub-consciously picking up my M4A1. We both went up to the range. I took a breath. "...3...2...1...go!!" I pulled up the carbine and double-tapped each of the targets, downing them immediately. I only expanded one and a half clips, John one and a half as well. We started walking away from the range for the evening chow, when Soap and Ghost both stopped in front of us. For about thirty seconds, we just stared. I guess it was a test, to see whether or not we'd cower away. Finally, Soap's face twisted into a slight smirk again. "Congratulations, men." he said with a Scottish accent. "You've just won the lottery." He turned around and headed for the main office. "Follow us." Ghost said. John and I both looked at each other, amazement in our eyes. Then, we followed after the two reps. This changed our lives forever. Chapter 3 "Separate Paths" Camp Pendleton, San Diego, California. July 28, 2015 Thousands of questions raced through my mind as we walked toward the main entrance. Why were we selected? What does the TF 141 do? What would I tell my friends? Would I see my friends again? Would I see my family again? When could John and I get our crap? "I forgot to mention," Soap said," Your gear is up front." 'That takes care of that issue,' I thought. My thoughts were interrupted by a cell phone ringing. It was MacTavish's He answered it, looking very disappointed at the end of the conversation. "Who was that, sir?" Ghost inquired. "Shepard. He wants one of these two for Shadow Company." "WHAT?!!" all three of us exclaimed. My thoughts of us being together in the real world Justice League had crumbled. Who would go? "I'll go." My jaw dropped. Turning around I gaped at John. Did he really just offer himself to go be a bodyguard? "Are you sure?" Soap asked. "Yessir." John said. Tears started fighting their way into my eyes. I tried my hardest to hold them back. Soap considered it for a second, then finally decided what to say. "Alright. Meet us at Lindberg Field, Terminal 1 at 0900 hours. We'll take a 777 to Washington DC. Whatever you do tonight is up to you. Dismissed." Sunset drew across San Diego Bay. Red and orange streaks ran through the sky and water like brush strokes on a canvas. The blaze painted the clouds red, and glazed the windows of the buildings that towered over downtown. John and I were leaning on the edge of the railing on the top deck of the U.S.S. Midway. The sunset made gleams on our sunglasses, and a slight breeze blew over our faces. It was almost picturesque. "Why'd you do it?" I asked. John looked down. "Come on Micheal." He looked up. "You and I both know that you're the better fighter." "That's not...!!" I began to say, but then I lowered my head because it was the truth. "Plus, I think it'd be less psychologically mind-fucking if we find out that the other died by message than together in the same battlefield," he explained. "Then, you'd have a fucked up image in your head replaying for the rest of your life..." "Like Iwo Jima...." I said, trance-like. "....Yeah. That works." he replied. "Just try to keep in touch, ok?" I said. "Always," he smiled. We then checked into Motel 6 by the airport. A nice hot shower, and clean beds awaited us there. Tomorrow was a very big day. Chapter 4 "Hell" Caucasus Mountains September 24, 2016 More than a year had past since John and I had last seen each other. The Task Force had been quite a diligent unit. About 100 men were in this group. All had callsigns. I chose "Raptor," the nickname my father had. I soon got set in with the rest of the team. I also made a new friend. Callsign Viper, he was slightly younger than me, and used a Kriss vectoring submachine gun. We were dropped off by C-17 near the Georgian border. Large trees dotted the area. Tall snow-capped mountains joined the horizon. The breeze was soft and the smell of the forest floated in the air. It would be so beautiful if it were not Vladimir Makarov's Safehouse. Ghost and Roach walked alongside us, as well as other commandos and two snipers. "Strike Team go," ordered Ghost. "Solid Copy." This was said by Ozone, a Shadow Company operative. About half of Shadow Co. was operating with TF 141 on this mission, and the rest were in Afghanistan. I hoped John was here. We walked along towards the safehouse, admiring the view. Well, I was anyway. I guess I never really got rid of that problem. Moss blanketed the ground, and now the morning sun was just dawning over the horizon. I turned and faced forward at the forest. Suddenly a small metal disk lept up and stopped right between my eyes. "LANDMINES!! Go prone!" Ghost screamed. Wait, what? I got on the ground just in time. So did Ghost, Roach and about twenty other members. Viper was lucky. His mine happened to be right in front of a root, which sent him bowling over just as the mine exploded. "I meant to do that!" he offered. Immediately, enemy fire erupted from the trees. I brought up my M4 and stared through the scope. I found my target and dispatched him with a rising three round burst; one in the stomach, one in the throat, and one in the face. He dropped dead. Many other troops came running out, with AKMs and RPDs. I pulled the pin from a frag, and lobbed it into the group. I couldn't see, but I'm sure most of them bought it. Suddenly, Viper received a 7.62 in the leg, and dropped. "Viper's down! VIPER'S DOWN!!" I shouted through the radio. "...and still alive...." he said through the mike. "Raptor! Take Viper and get out of here!" Roach ordered. "And go where?" I asked. "YOU'RE the Boy Scout aren't you?" he answered. "Get moving!" I nodded and picked up Viper, who groaned. Walking up the mountain, we trekked our way through the woods. I told him to take off his belt and bite it. I extracted the bullet and field-dressed his wound. Then, we walked on. "What are we looking for exactly?" asked Viper. "A truck. A helicopter. A tank. Anything that can get us out of here. Or a place to radio out and stay there until help arrives. I have a friend in Shadow Company, and he can probably help us." I explained. We continued walking for about an hour, then stopped. A helicopter flew over. However, to our fortune, it was a Pave Low. It skimmed overhead and set down in a field about two miles away. "Give me your binoculars. I know you have a 4x scope from that FAMAS back there," I told him. "Keep 'em," he said. I looked through the binoculars, and viewed the scene from afar. Ghost was dragging Roach out of there, being followed by the worst shots in the entire Russian army. A couple of Shadow Company soldiers and General Shepard hopped out. Suddenly, Shepard shot Roach and Ghost with a magnum. Both fell and were thrown into a pit and lit ablaze. 'Holy shit' I thought. ' We're next.' My eyes darted over to a mud pile not ten feet away. I pointed it out. "Hop in. If the chopper flies over, they cant see us. Also, it should keep us from being spotted on thermal." We proceeded in getting ourselves sufficiently filthy, and bugged out. I had the urge to call and see if there were any more Task Force members alive. I remembered that Shadow Company could trace us, and decided not to. Suddenly, a jeep came speeding toward us. I recognized the erratic driving pattern and speeded towards it. John stepped out of the jeep and pulled out a .45 on my head. Chapter Five "Debts Paid" Caucasus Mountains September 24, 2016 "Son of a bitch!" screamed Viper, while pulling out his M9. I could tell he was very frightened; I guess I was his mentor of sorts. If I died, he'd take revenge. Then he'd die. Our main priority was finding any remaining survivors of TF 141 and regroup. Kinda like the Jedi after Order 66. That's what I'd start calling it. "Stand down, dammit." He gave me that what-the-fuck-are-you-high-on-right-now look. "And she wasn't a bitch; she helped me get Eagle." "You KNOW this guy?!" screamed Viper. "Yes. He's John." "THAT John?" "Yes." "Why is he about to put a cap in your head?" Finally, John spoke. "I'm under orders to kill you both." He pointed his gun at Viper. "You, I have no problem killing." "Yeah," retorted Viper. "The feelings mutual." "However," said John, turning towards me,"you...." His grip tightened" I started sweating. I unholstered my Hi-Capa Dragon. "John, are you really going to listen to that faggot, Shepard?" "Faggot? HE'S the leader of the U.S. Military forces!! I CAN'T betray him." "I know you watched Star Wars with me. This is just like in the 3rd movie. Palpatine told you to kill me and Viper and any other Jedi you see. Are you going to be Anakin, or Vader?" His grip lessened. He was considering what I said. If I got out of this alive, I would NEVER EVER make fun of Star Wars nerds again. "Look." I said. "Take a moment. Remember the summer of '09. Remember staffing up at Mataguay. Remember all those videos we made. Remember the eighth grade and high school graduation. Remember all the times we spent together. Are you really going to throw that away? Do you really want to be stuck knowing that one old guy made all that stuff look like nothing. If it were me, God himself couldn't let me do it. So what are going to do?" His face changed. The soulless look in his eyes went away. He started to lower his pistol. I reholstered my Dragon. Viper breathed a sigh of relief. I just realized how red my face was. I also noticed that I was starting to cry. "You saved my life many years ago," John said. "Now my debt is payed. I'll make sure you and your guys get out ok. The day is yours Kenobi." As we started to part ways, I caught movement in the corner of my eye. Two Shadow Company operatives showed up. Gunfire broke the forest tension. Viper got another round through the back. He dropped to the earth. I waited for my inevitable fate. At least it wasn't John's fault. Suddenly, I remembered the sunset on the Midway. Iwo Jima. Instead of M16 fire, and ACR stole the silence. I turned in shock and horror as John felled his own American. "FUCKER!" The other Shadow Co. member raised his SCAR, but not before John killed him as well. The look in his eyes-absolutely emotionless-scared me. He turned towards me and then sprinted. "J-J-John, what did you do?" "We've gotta get out of here. Someone else saw me do that. How's he?" "He might not make it. But he's still alive. I agree we need to aboandon this spot. Help me lift him." We both heaved him up. We heard shouting behind us, where John dropped the enemies. The pace quickened. We both knew where we could escape. Besides trying to take a chopper, we were out of options for escape. That was the least of our problems at the moment. As the sun fell, we stopped. John and I made makeshift shelters, and set up a base camp. Viper was holding out. He was a tough little bastard. Suddenly, my radio came to life. On channel #2 was where the call was coming from. I switched the settings. "...ease answer me Raptor. This is Soap calling Raptor, please for God's sake answer." "This is Raptor. What ails thou?" "Jesus Christ. Thank God your alive. What the hell happened there?" I told him every thing that happened. "Captain Price, Nikolai, and I are headed out of Afghanistan. I doubt that we'll be able to pick you up, because Nikolai doesn't have a good amount of fuel left." "Don't bother," John yelled through the headphones. "Shepard's on his way to Afghanistan anyway. There are probably some of Makarov's helicopters left." "Ok, we'll leave it to you guys to figure it out. Godspeed to you you both. Out." I switched off the radio. My whole world was turning upside down. I didn't know what to do. It was us vs the world. Luckily, I had John. Gallery Micheal Jayden M4A1.jpg|Micheal Jayden's M4A1-Chapters 2-4 John Westfield ACR.jpg|John Westfield's ACR Hi-Capa Dragon.jpg|Micheal Jayden's Hi-Capa Dragon 150px-M1911cropped.PNG|John Westfield's SA Loaded 1911 Category:FanFiction